Lullabies
by K78lass
Summary: When the quiet night falls, the mind still screams. Music inspired one shots. Ch. 1: Anders contemplates his role in Hawke's life. Ch. 2: A year after DA:2, Fenris regrets what happened with his sister. Very first fic, kind critique requested.
1. Safe and Sound

**"Safe & Sound"**  
Inspired by the lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift (feat. The Civil Wars)

**Summary:** Takes place late Act II, through Act III. Hawke runs to Ander's arms after Fenris leaves her but she never really forgets him.  
**Pairing:** Hawke/Anders, Hawke/Fenris  
**Rating:** T for sexual references and masturbation. Some serious Ander's angst!  
**Genre:** Hurt/Romance/Angst

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.

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His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, Hawke's fingers pressing to his cheeks. Anders loomed over her by several inches, his own hands knotting at her waist, twisting in her hair, eyes fluttering closed. He didn't want her to come to him like this, but he had longed for Hawke for such a time that when she finally did find home in his arms it _ached_ and he could never say no.

Pressing kisses against her hair, he apologized; mumbled on bated breath, hitching in his throat when her hands trailed down his body and he shuddered. Anders was always much freer with his words than _he_ was, and when he said he loved her against her bare shoulder, she didn't need to wonder if it was true. But the way her eyes looked away burned his heart worse than never hearing the words returned ever could, water falling from her eyes unchecked. His thumbs skimmed her cheeks, brushing away her tears, and pressed into her skin, shoving away her thoughts, and when heat blazed between them swollen and bruised, he pressed his body to hers to forget that it was not his name on her lips.

Embarrassment ripe for plucking, he rolled away to lift himself from her bed. Her hand caught his wrist, and when she asked for him to stay, he promised her forever.

Anders did not sleep that night.

Tonight was just like that one, yet instead he was on his own cot in the clinic. His fingers hastily unlaced the ties at his hips as his breath sighed from an exasperated, tired mouth. When he touched himself, he imagined her legs clenching around him, ankles hooking at the small of his back, hot whines against his cheek, calloused fingers skimming his chest. He does not imagine her eyes, the distressed expression on her face, the disgust when she realizes that it is he that she wakes beside and not…

The break of dawn and Anders was the one who broke his promise. After a week of suffering, fighting, pleading, he could not deal with one more hard stare from her blue eyes. She did not ask him to return after that day, when she had to wake alone. Several days later, she visited the clinic and warmly asked him to accompany her to the Wounded Coast. And yet… the broken glass of her eyes never smiled as sure as her lips did. He could never say no.

As months passed, it became easier to face Hawke's fake bliss. He came to her one brisk evening, seeking respite from the rain dripping through the holes in the clinic's roof. Gracious as always, his bird allowed him to sleep in one of her guest rooms, in the evenings sitting next to him in front of the hearth and, with one hand on her Mabari and the other on his knee, shared the secrets plaguing her heart.

Even as she found restless peace against him under the blinking stars, Anders knew her heart only forgave so much. Eventually, she would lift herself from her doze and retire to her room, the click of a lock sliding in place behind her leaving the echo of distrust ringing loud in the air. Anders stayed, not really knowing why, like a moth to a flame only to burn and die. Heart fluttering in his chest, he reached up towards a forbidden love he knew he could only dream of, practically fainting to sleep on a borrowed mattress.

When the dawn broke and the hearth's fire withered, he stayed, not willing to leave until Hawke kicked him out. And so they continued this way, sleeping in separate rooms, he perusing her library and leaving copies of his manifesto _everywhere_, ignoring when others came and gone, leaving questions littered about like leaves scattered in the wind.

Things in Kirkwall just kept getting worse and worse. One day it was raining and the next there was a typhoon. Meredith and Orsino hand their hands out, flexing towards each other's neck and the Divine Mother had no intention of attempting to help settle things between them. As both of their paranoia swelled, the before nonexistent relationship with the Arishok turned into a full-fledged Hawke-only responsibility. The Viscount didn't have the balls to even approach the problem until his own son was murdered by a Chantry sister. Fanatics, all of them. Hawke would come home and glance in his direction, eyes tired and annoyed and suspicious, and Anders found himself avoiding her home for his clinic once more.

He didn't want to tell her, but he had been there when the man brought her Mother white lilies. Even though he had went with her to track down several leads regarding the kidnapped women, he was so preoccupied with his own angst to notice. And then, only days later, she had found her mother used as a terrible experiment in order to piece together a grieving man's dead wife. Both Carver and Gamlen came home to berate her – he overheard them driving nails into her bones and rip apart soft tissue and while they were blaming her, hurting her, he only sat and _listened_ and she only sat and _apologized. _She had never sounded so weak and he had never felt so ashamed. _He_ came to her that night, to comfort her, Anders fleeing out into the rain when he heard the door to her room click and lock.

When Hawke single handedly felled the Arishok and her small body collapsed beside him, his hands rose and he lurched forward to heal her. Anders realized that she never needed him after all, tan skin and white hair and those damned swirls of lyrium tracing down slender arms that swooped in to hold her. _He_ took a potion from his side and held it to her lips with a hand wrapped in red cloth and neither took a glance towards "the abomination". His heart was breaking and she couldn't even hear it. Anders prayed she would remember their tangled embraces those nights with the earnest that he did if only sometimes.

Pain shot through Ander's head when he heard _his_ voice, _his_ name on her lips. His work became his sole focus, planning and pressing and preening for the mage rebellion. Hawke continued to be a distant support and when he told her he wanted to find the ingredients to make a potion to expel Justice from his soul _he_ came with them. She whispered with him excitedly with the possibility, great irritation growing from the inside. There was nothing he could do to help things now.

The time between their meetings stretched from weeks to months and she stopped seeking him out. Just as well, he thought, no reason to get her wrapped up in the danger of his plans now. There was no way that she understood the plight of the mages, no matter how much she vowed to stand beside him or behind him. Their relationship had dissolved so much from what it was when they first met, maybe that was his fault, maybe it was because he cared so much and she cared so little… No, he shook his head bitterly, she never cared less, she simply had other things to care for. Anders would by no means take away her happiness when it seemed she had finally found it again.

When the day came that it was only a matter of time that the end would come, he took her hands in his during a rare visit to his clinic. I will miss you, he said, what are you saying? she said. I only want to keep you safe, he responds. She does not understand but her arms embrace him and she does not ask for his secrets and finally he prefers it this way. In the Circle, as a Grey Warden, he had always been alone – but here his solidarity could serve a purpose. And as his eyes closed and he pressed his nose to her hair and his hands splayed across her back, he relaxed for the first time in seven years. She tensed, and he hushed her, and she sensed the imminence of his decisions even if she didn't know why.

"Don't worry, Hawke, we'll rest soon."


	2. Paper Heart

"**Paper Heart" **  
Inspired by Paper Heart by F(x)  
Link to the song with translation: youtube watch?v=WrYSsMy3HwY

**Summary: **One year after the end of DA:2, Fenris begins to regret what happened with Vanaria...  
**Pairing: **Hawke/Fenris (it's not about them, really)  
**Genre:** Family/Comfort  
**Rating:** G

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Dragon Age.

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The day he realized he never needed to run from Danarius was the day he was finally free.

_Vanaria,_

Only one word and he had to put down the quill, flexing and cracking his fingers from squeezing until his knuckles whitened. What was he doing? She had long since returned to Minrathous to return to her life as a tailor. Hawke had been Viscount for the last year and he sorely missed her presence at his back while he took mercenary jobs. It wasn't hard to become comfortable in this life, though it seemed to be determined to push them apart from their friends and from each other. His bird seemed too tired to fly, these days.

_I suppose this letter will come as a surprise. If you have even ventured to open it, you have my thanks._

Hawke had taught him the meaning of family. When Hadriana told him of his sister, he sought her out in order to gain something, a place, a life. Hope was a feeling he didn't deserve. When Danarius was brought to him instead, his fury burned brighter than the hottest suns. Grief was an emotion he had forgotten about, maybe years ago from before he was Fenris he had known of the illness. That moment it struck him and he mourned for a life he didn't know and a sister he would never have. The instant Danarius walked down those steps, she had died in his eyes. For a long time he had harbored this anger against Vanaria, but now he wondered…

_It is said the Maker has left us, however, I wonder if He continues among us. Maybe the methods He choses may not be the ones we prefer, but in the end it is these events that brought me to Hawke. If you had not brought Danarius to me, would I have ever been able to rid myself of his shackles? _

Fenris had the habit of not expressing his true feelings unless angered. This time, he would be honest. He was all that Hawke had left, and Hawke was all that he had in this world. While he was content with this circumstance, his sister wasn't. Was that not the reason she had attempted to betray him? That despite his efforts, her freedom meant nothing if she was not to have a brother, a mother? He understood this sentiment more than he would like to admit.

_I hope that even though we have had our disagreements, these events can also bring us together._

"No," he grumbled, crumbling the paper and grabbing a new one.

_How could you betray your own brother to the man who enslaved him?_

"Ugh." The words felt right to let slip from his fingers but he could never send it to her. If he hoped at all to gain a sister, then he needed to be civil, honest. He sucked in a trembling breath and began to start again.

_Vanaria,_

_Since you ran from the Hanged Man that day last year, I have not forgotten you. Hawke and I have lost friends and family; No matter our past misgivings, you are my sister. I –_

"No."

_We will do what is needed to have you beside us. _

Writing letters was harder than it seemed.

_I was angry with you because I felt betrayed, but I lashed out against you in fear. My Hawke is also a mage, sister. Her sister, her father, they were mages. I let my anger lead me to rash judgment and undue violence. Reluctant as I have been, I know now that we belong together. _

With the quickness of a cat, Fenris slapped his hand down over the words of the page. "I can't send this… this trash to her. She'd think I have gone soft." He took in a deep breath, shaking white hair from his eyes. "Or she'll think I'm lying." Carefully, he lifted his hand from the wet ink and stood from Hawke's desk. The hearth where he so often gazed into the flames, asking its hot truth to penetrate his soul, is where he leaned his arm and rested his head. "How can I convince her that I'm telling the truth this time?"

"Be honest, she will know." He heard the simple answer from the door, turning to look at Hawke as she leaned on the door frame. His eyes softened, gold flecked from the fire, his shoulders relaxing.

"I feel… stupid."

Her smile told him how much she understood. "When Carver left to join the Templars and didn't write me for three years, I felt much the same." She began stripping her armor from a visibly tired body. She still wore it even though she wasn't doing much fighting – Hawke never knew when she would need to be ready for battle. "Hearing from you will mean more to her than you know, even if she is angry, it will only be because she's in pain."

"I couldn't bear it – if she hates me." His hand lifted to his chest and laid upon it, grasping. "My heart is as fragile as that piece of parchment. I could crumble, I could burn –"

"Parchment is made from wood, it's not as delicate as you think," she laughed lightly, voice twinkling like a wind chime. "You're not alone, Fenris. You're giving Vanaria the chance to not be alone either."

He couldn't help the way his lips curled and his heart picked itself up to stand straighter. Looking down at his hands, he rubbed his fingers together where the ink stained his skin. It had dried. Maybe the paper had, too. Returning to the desk, he leaned over the letter again and picked up the quill. Hawke sat on their bed behind him, working on releasing her raven locks from the myriad of pins that held it in place.

_If I do not do something to mend the rift I have created between us, then my efforts to acquire these brands and free you and Mother from slavery was for naught. I would wish to honor her in this last way. _

Fenris felt Hawke's presence over his shoulder, but did not bother to make her leave. She was reading the letter, he knew, much faster than he could write it. Calloused fingers moved aside his hair to press her lips against the three dots on his forehead. Her weight pressed further on his shoulders, taking the quill from his hands and adding in her looping, feminine script,

_With all our love, Hawke _

He hesitated, turning his head to look up at her and her smile. Blue eyes shone wet, a faint blush creeping over her cheekbones as it did when she was too happy to contain it. Her fingers passed the quill back to him and he signed –

_and Leto._


End file.
